


It's a Cold World

by fallenfromluster



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, Drax Gives Relationship Advice, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Peter's POV, Rocket Tries Cooking, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenfromluster/pseuds/fallenfromluster
Summary: Peter had been in a funk since the events with Ego and Yondu's death. Most of the Guardians had been content to let Peter grieve on his own, but Rocket was not.---“Quill! Hey Quill, open up!” The voice and banging came muffled through the half inch of Xeronian steel. It’d been three weeks since Ego, but Peter still wasn’t ready for regular interaction with his crew. He knew he had to be captain, but it seemed so pointless right now. His biological father was a monster, more than a monster, and Yondu, well Yondu was dead. He’d watched him die. There was no coming back from that. The banging and shouts died down until he heard a high-pitched whirring. “I could hack the lock, but this will be more fun. If you don’t open this door in the next thirty seconds, there won’t be no door to open.”





	It's a Cold World

After Ego, Peter was a mess. The other Guardians had mostly left him alone after Yondu’s death. All of them understood loss and grief, and wanted to let Peter deal with it in his own way, which was listening to the Zune, locking himself in his cabin, and crying into his pillow. Gamora had offered to listen whenever he was ready. “Peter, if you don’t want to talk, I understand. If you ever do, you know where to find me.” Drax had offered, well something else. “I understand. When my wife and daughter were murdered, I also locked the door. If you want knives, I have them.” And even Groot tried to help, offering Peter flower after flower, despite his diminished state. But Rocket, well Rocket had been weird.

“Quill! Hey Quill, open up!” The voice and banging came muffled through the half inch of Xeronian steel. It’d been three weeks since Ego, but Peter still wasn’t ready for regular interaction with his crew. He knew he had to be captain, but it seemed so pointless right now. His biological father was a monster, more than a monster, and Yondu, well Yondu was dead. He’d watched him die. There was no coming back from that. The banging and shouts died down until he heard a high-pitched whirring. “I could hack the lock, but this will be more fun. If you don’t open this door in the next thirty seconds, there won’t be no door to open.”

And Peter knew this was serious. Rocket made jokes, but never about his ability to blow things up, cut through metal, or generally make a mess out of matter. He scrambled out of bed wearing just his boxers and hit the door lock, revealing Rocket holding a pot of soup half his size. “Come on, Stardork, this is hot and I need to set it down somewhere.” This was the third time Rocket had made food and brought it to Peter. He cleared a table and Rocket set the pot down on it.

“I thought you had a weapon.”

“You think I’d use a weapon on you?” Rocket did his usual, too loud, fake laugh. “When I break down a door, the people behind it don’t exactly enjoy the experience. Now I’ve got to get two bowls and some spoons. Don’t go nowhere.” And Rocket padded away.

In the first week after Ego, Rocket had left him alone. In the second week, Rocket left him a variety of liquors outside the door. In the third week, Rocket had started cooking. The first meal was some sort of pasta. Xandarians on the southern continent—Peter couldn’t remember the name, Cambros, Camtos?—enjoyed it, but this seemed to be more wriggly than he remembered. “Ya don’t like it.” Rocket looked down and stared at the floor.

“No, I like it. It’s just hoth…” A strand of pasta had wrapped around Peter’s tongue. When Rocket looked away Peter shot his pasta with the stun setting on his blaster. After that is was pretty good. The sauce was tangy and rich, and Peter could almost taste oregano, if it didn’t also taste like lavender. Two days later Rocket brought a steaming metal tray covered in what Peter assumed were vegetables and meat. He didn’t ask which meat; they hadn’t stopped on a planet in at least a week. And there were also tortillas, or at least disks of some sort of food. Rocket ate with him in silence, and Peter didn’t disturb that. He felt exhausted and was just glad to have some company, even if he didn’t have anything to say. It beat replaying Yondu suffocating over and over in his head.

Now Rocket had come back carrying two bowls and ladled out some for both of them. The soup looked, well, not great. It was a light brown and strange things were floating in it, including something star shaped and what Peter thought might be fur. It also smelled like vinegar. He tasted it and it was, wow! “How’d you make this? It tastes just like from Earth!” Peter hadn’t felt this good in weeks.

“Course it does. I found the plans in one of the books you always leave lying around. The ‘pork’, whatever that is, was hard, but I found something that worked,” Rocket said, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

Peter didn’t ask what the ‘something’ was and just said, “Thank you.” It was the first time he had tasted Hot and Sour soup since leaving Earth. He went for a hug, but Rocket scrambled away before he could get anywhere near. But he came back and patted Peter on the hand before joining Peter for the rest of the meal. “Thanks again. I know I haven’t been much…”

Rocket interrupted and just said, “I got ya.”

All of this was weird. Rocket wasn’t a considerate guy. He was more of a shoot first, blow up second, then maybe sort of apologize guy. This caring and friendly—well he still had threatened to shoot Peter twice these past three weeks—Rocket was a whole different beast, not that Peter wasn’t grateful. His moments of happiness these past few weeks were few and far between, and Rocket’s meal delivery certainly helped.

 

 

Then the Guardians got a job, commissioned by the Nova Corps themselves, and Peter forced himself to lead again. It was a simple retrieval. Some leftovers from Ronan’s forces had nabbed a data stick containing plans for new Nova Corps ships. They’d hunkered down on an ice planet while they waited for a buyer. Peter hated ice planets. They were cold, there was nothing to see but white, and most of all anyone desperate enough to go there was going to be a huge dick. Cartach-3 lived up to every one of Peter’s expectations. It was cold (-150 °F), the planet was white with the ice having encased every geological feature millions of years ago, and the residents were one hundred percent dicks.

Peter had offered to let them surrender the data stick peacefully, mostly so he wouldn’t have to go outside, but they had refused. From there it had been a simple battle. Gamora and Drax stabbed or punched people. Rocket and Peter shot people. They’d been through this. He didn’t understand why these idiots couldn’t predict the results. The Guardians had taken down Ronan and held an Infinity Stone. Thirteen parka garbed idiots weren’t exactly up to the challenge. None of the bodies seemed to have the data stick, however, so Rocket and Peter went into the base while Drax and Dramora brought the ship closer. The data stick was easy enough to find; it was plugged into the main console, but while they were in the base, the storm hit.

“Peter, we can’t bring the Milano to get you while the storm is here. It’s too dangerous, and I doubt you and Rocket could even walk outside.” The wind read at 354 mph so he was forced to agree. This was the fourth thing Peter hated about ice planets: nothing ever went right.

Peter grunted and ran his hands through his hair, before grumbling, “Why’d we even come here?”

“For the units, stupid. Come on, lets find the beds. We’ll be here awhile.” Peter followed Rocket down the hallway, which off course had frost on the walls, until they found a room with beds. It was warmer in here, but only slightly. His scanner showed the temperature was just above freezing. “Better get comfy. I don’t think the storms letting up for a few hours.”

And Peter tried to get comfy. He’d dragged the blankets off most of the beds and piled them on but he was only wearing his normal clothes and leather jacket. He hadn’t planned on being on the stupid ice planet for long, and it was just too cold. He’d even deployed his mask, but it didn’t help. After fifteen minutes of shivering he heard footsteps coming toward him. “Quill, move over.”

“Rocket, what…” Peter, didn’t even have time to finish his sentence before he felt his friend jump onto the bed and start burrowing under the covers. Soon a warm body was pressed against his own and arms wrapped around him, well only half around.

“Don’t want you dying on me. I went through enough to get you away from Ego. Not going to let some frozen rock kill you,” Rocket said then deployed a personal heating device. Immediately Peter felt warm, and not just because of whatever tech Rocket was using. He sighed and put his arms around Rocket.

“Thanks. What was that?”

“What you think fur’s enough for this place? Course I brought something better.” Then, just barely audible, Rocket whispered, “I’ll make you one tpp.” And Peter drifted off to sleep, comforted by the warmth and just having someone next to him.

Nine hours later, Peter woke up to his communicator vibrating. He pressed the button and the side and groggily, asked “What? Is the storm over?”

Gamora answered, “Peter it’s been over for an hour. We’ve tried to reach you and Rocket but received no response. Is everything all right? We thought you might have encountered problems.”

Peter glanced around for his furry friend, only to find him still clinging to his chest. Peter smiled and said, “Things are good. Rocket and I were just taking a little nap. Sorry to worry you. We’ll be out in ten.” Peter hesitantly reached down and poked Rocket’s shoulder. “Hey buddy, we have to get up.”

“I’m awake,” Rocket said without hesitation. Peter froze. Rocket was still holding him, and didn’t seem to be letting go. Neither said anything until Rocket gradually eased away a minute later, and hopped onto the floor and. “Okay, let’s get back to the ship.” Peter followed him out through the snow and onto the ship all the while questioning the previous night’s events. Rocket had never been cuddly. He’d bit the hand of some Xenorian who reached over to pet him in a bar and drawn a gun when another had tried to pick him up. It was weird, but Peter assumed it was just Rocket’s way of showing that he trusted him.

 

 

Things sort of went back to normal. Peter started coming out of his room again and dancing across the ship with his Zune. He was still grieving, but didn’t want to be so alone. And Rocket had stopped bringing food to his room. Instead he’d picked up a new habit.

He’d had expanded his culinary skills and was now making at least one meal per day for the other Guardians. It was hit or miss. He still only had the one cook book Peter had left out, and his attempts at the culinary tastes of Drax and Gamora hadn’t exactly worked out well. Gamora had been polite and eaten the full bowl of what Peter could only think of as rice, squid (maybe), and fire. Drax was, well Drax. He’d devoured the whole plate of noodles before declaring, “Rocket, I respect you as a warrior. You have faced many enemies and emerged victorious. This one, however, has bested you. Never make this abomination again.” Rocket was shouting and threatening to “take Drax’s krootakin head off,” but Peter was impressed. Rocket had made a food he’d likely never tasted—whatever this was supposed to be, Peter didn’t think it was so bad, but then again he’d eaten Ravager food for years—and he seemed more at home on the Milano than ever before.

Peter’s door opened in the middle of the night spilling light onto the bed. He blinked awake and squinted his eyes against the bright hallway. Eventually the shapes resolved themselves and he saw his friend awkwardly standing in the doorway. “Rocket? What’s up? Is the ship okay?”

Rocket didn’t answer and just padded in a few steps forward, before mumbling, “Thought ya might be cold,” while rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced down while waiting for Peter to respond. This was weird.  Peter just stared at Rocket as his brain turned over the idea of Rocket coming by in the middle of the night. “It’s okay, I’ll just go,” Rocket blurted out before turning around.

Peter’s brain finally caught up and he could speak. He wasn’t cold, but maybe he could be. “No, ya don’t have to go, I’ll just,” Peter threw aside the blanket and scooted over, “make some room.” Rocket walked over and gently climbed onto the bed. It was a lot bigger than the bed on Brevia-6, so Rocket didn't have to be pressed against Peter, but he squirmed over to Peter’s side anyway “Guess I’m not going to need as many blankets tonight,” Peter said before wrapping his arms around Rocket.

“Nope.” Peter could barely hear the word, muffled by his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered and fell asleep almost immediately. Tonight he didn’t have any of the horrifying dreams about the final moments on Ego when he was desperately clawing to remove his helmet for Yondu. In the morning, he was cold. Rocket had left sometime during the night.

Three days passed before Peter’s door opened again in the night. “Close the door, it’s too bright,” he groaned burying his head under the pillow. He felt a weight on the mattress, brought his head out from under the pillow, and stared at what he assumed was Rocket’s face in the dark. “How’re you opening the door anyhow? Thought I was the only one with a key.”

“Told you I could hack the doors, Stardork.” Peter was sure that Rocket rolled his eyes. “Ya don’t mind, do you?” The last sentence came out hesitant, almost afraid of what the answer would be.

Peter just smirked and said, “Nah, c’mere and keep me warm.” Rocket immediately climbed onto Peter’s waiting chest and nuzzled under his chin. It was comforting enough that Peter let slip, “You know you could just ask to come in, right? You don’t need to hack the lock.” Peter didn’t get a response, but he felt Rocket’s arms hug a bit tighter. Peter felt Rocket’s breathing slow to a steady pace, and then he too fell asleep. Again the bed was empty in the morning, and he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

 

 

Two weeks of almost nightly visits had passed before Peter finally woke up to Rocket still in his bed. Rocket had buried his head in the crook of Peter’s neck, and he was just so cute that Peter had to bring an arm up to stifle a laugh. “Wa?” Rocket raised his head and looked around, fur flattened on one side. Peter couldn’t hold back anymore and let out a full laugh. “What’re ya laughin’ at Quill?”

“You, stupid. Your fur’s a mess.” Rocket started pawing at the side of his head trying to get his fur to go down. “Here lemme help.” Before he realized what he was doing, Peter had licked his thumb and was rubbing his hand across Rocket’s head. He knew he was going to get bitten, scratched, maybe shot—he hoped he was good enough friends with Rocket now that that wouldn’t happen—and froze. But Rocket just leaned into his hand, so Peter kept going. Eventually Rocket pulled back and stared down at Peter. Their eyes locked too long for comfort, and Rocket jumped off the bed, then didn’t say anything as he walked out the door. Peter knew he’d missed something.

Rocket didn’t come back that night, or the one after, or even the one after that. His absence stretched for a full week and Peter found he couldn’t sleep anymore. He’d gotten used to his furry companion snuggling up, and now his bed just felt empty. He still saw Rocket around the ship, especially during his cooking adventures, but there was an unspoken tension. Peter didn’t directly discuss it with the rest of the team, but Gamora noticed the dark circles forming under Peter’s eyes. “Are you all right? You look, tired. Are you thinking about Yondu again?” she asked, looking worried.

“Nah, just some other stuff. It’s stupid,” Peter said glancing away with a sigh. He was always think of Yondu, but recently it hadn’t been so hard; he’d been able to remember more of the good than the bad.

Gamora frowned, then said, “You should go talk to him.” She walked away, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts. Peter didn’t know what he’d even say: ‘Yo Rocket, I like this cuddle thing we have going’? ‘Please come back, I’m lonely’? Whatever. Peter decided he’d find Rocket that night. He waited, hoping Rocket would just show up and he wouldn’t have to ask, but after an hour of silence in the dark, he knew he had to go. His first stop was Rocket and Groot’s room. He knocked and a few moments later the door opened to show a sullen looking, knee-tall Groot—how could a tree even look sullen?—who didn’t say anything, just pointed down the hallway toward Rocket’s workshop. Peter entered through the open door and found Rocket half collapsed across his workbench, wrench in his paws, and drool pooling next to some bolts.

“Hey buddy,” Peter whispered and gently shook Rocket’s shoulder. Rocket snorted and jerked awake reaching for a blaster on the table. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

“Quill? What are you,” Rocket glanced around, before saying, “What time is it?”

“Hey, it’s still night. You’re sleeping in your workshop?” Peter asked feeling a bit sorry for Rocket.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Rocket crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, trying to look intimidating, which was hard in his half-asleep state.

“Rocket look,” Peter said. His voice broke a little, and he continued, “I’m lonely without you. Please come back to my room with me. I can’t sleep.”

Rocket’s face and posture softened immediately and he jumped down to follow Peter into his cabin. Peter fell asleep almost immediately with Rocket snuggled up to him. In the morning, Rocket had his arms wrapped around Peter’s neck and his face in Peter’s hair. It was nice. After a few minutes Rocket stirred and leaped off the bed.

“Want something to eat? We still got eggs, not sure exactly the species, from our last stop.”

“That’d be great. Thanks, Rocket.” Peter got up on his elbow to watch Rocket pad out of the room, before collapsing back down. He tried not to think about it, this _thing_ he and Rocket had going. He enjoyed Rocket’s company in the night. It was nice having someone there just to be there, especially someone he could trust. It felt different from the girls that Peter used to bring back to the Milano, not that Rocket was a replacement for that. Peter groaned and rubbed his face. His mind had gone there. Oh well. He still didn’t quite understand why Rocket had started coming back each night. Maybe he was just being protective? Maybe Groot had gotten a bit too annoying to spend the night with? He had grown an attitude these past few weeks and the vines had started to overwhelm the room. But what he really didn’t understand was why he was so upset when Rocket had stopped coming over. Peter shrugged got out of bed, and pulled on some clothes, then walked down to the kitchen.

Rocket was busy over a sizzling pan, so Peter just sat at the table. “Damn that smells good!” when the steam from the pan wafted over to him. Rocket turned his head and smiled a little. “You’ve gotten really good at this, Rocket.”

Rocket let out a quick, “Heh,” before saying, “I’m good at everything. You just figuring that out now?”

Peter grinned and said, “Guess I am.”

“I got a question for you,” Rocket said before pausing to dish out the eggs and what looked like peppers. “Seeing as how I’m coming over every night. Would you…” Rocket had to take a breath, then said, “let me keep a gun under the pillow? It don’t have to be huge. I just don’t like being unarmed.”

Peter chuckled. For all of the dramatic delivery, this was a pretty small request. “Sure. And it can be as big as you want. Just not so big that it hurts to lie on. Also, it better have a safety. I don’t want it going off in the night. I like all my limbs attached. No bombs, either.”

“Ah come on, why ya gotta suck the joy out of everything?” Rocket asked smiling. “I’ll bring it by tonight.” Peter liked that there was a now a promise. Sure he’d gotten used to Rocket coming by, but aside from asking Rocket to come back to his room last night, they’d never discussed it.

 

 

That night when Rocket came into the room he was holding a handgun with a glowing purple barrel. “You sure we can sleep with that? It’s uh, kind of bright.”

“Hey you’re the one that wanted a gun with a safety,” Rocket said exaggerating the last word like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “I’ve got limited options here.”

Peter frowned; that wasn’t a good thing. “I think I might have to discuss that with you in the morning. This is like that bomb you were storing in a box.”

“Yes, were.” Peter didn’t miss Rocket’s quick glance to the side.

“Okay, I’m too tired to discuss this, but sure. Now get over here.” Rocket climbed into bed and stowed the gun under the pillow, which was mercifully not bright enough to shine through the pillow. Peter reached over and pulled Rocket close, then fell asleep.

The next morning Rocket had gone to barter in Knowwhere while Peter had coffee in the kitchen. Drax entered the room and clapped both of his hands down on Peter’s shoulders. The coffee mug hit the floor and shattered. Drax didn’t look angry, but he was still able to scare Peter. “What are your intentions toward Rocket? I know that that you think me unobservant, and I have learned that there are indeed things which ‘go over my head’,” Drax seemed to shiver at the thought of it, “But even a blind Ravager could see the way Rocket treats you. I have observed Rocket entering your room multiple times these past few weeks. And now he has brought his weapon to your bed!” Peter was slightly disturbed that this had become common knowledge so fast. Like it was a small ship, but come on! “I know that he might intimidate one such as you, but you are no coward. You have lain with an A’askvarian!” Drax slapped Peter across the back, then shouted, “Have courage!” Drax smiled at Peter who just stared, face completely blank. Drax walked out of the kitchen leaving Peter dumbfounded. What had just happened?

Peter was in a daze the rest of the day, turning over Drax’s words. Rocket had been treating him differently from the rest of the crew, and then there was that glance they’d shared, and the gun thing, which Peter really didn’t understand. Suddenly the world shifted. Peter wanted Rocket to be there. Rocket wanted to be there. His only real objection was that he’d occasionally wake up with fur in his mouth if this continued.

That night when Rocket came into Peter’s room, he was ready. He gestured Rocket over so that both were sitting on the edge of the bed. “So, Rocket, buddy, why do you keep coming to my room?” Peter winced at how awkward that came out.

Rocket responded with a dejected, “I can stop, if ya want?”

“No, no you don’t have to stop. I don’t want you to stop. I hope me coming to get you from your workshop made that clear.” Peter placed his hand on Rocket’s shoulder. “It’s just that friends don’t usually sleep in each other’s beds.”

“Maybe I’m different.” Rocket huffed

“Yeah, ‘There ain’t know thing like me, but me’, I remember. Still. This isn’t just about me freezing or me being lonely anymore,” Peter said, then glanced over to Rocket, who had completely frozen. “I think you might like me. And I’m pretty okay with that.”

Rocket didn’t say anything and it was unnerving. Peter panicked thinking he’d said something wrong. “Hey if I misread things, it’s okay.”

“Ya dumb humie.” Rocket crawled onto Peter’s lap and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck. “Course I like you.”

Peter pressed a quick kiss to the top of Rocket’s head. “Want to stay up for awhile and listen to the Zune?” Rocket just nodded. Peter couldn’t see him, but he knew Rocket was smiling. Peter fell asleep with music and Rocket’s soft breathing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm always open to constructive criticism, and would love to hear what you think! I'm still experimenting with writing, so I'd really like to know what you thought about the dialog and flow of the story. If there's anything else that stood out for you or you felt was missing, I'd like to hear that too.
> 
> As promised, this story is nothing but fluff. I'm sure angst will make a return, but I wanted to try something different. I got the idea for this story after seeing a video with the raccoon that James Gunn modeled Rocket after for GotG: https://youtu.be/gY8NJJmYRag (I do imagine Rocket being somewhat bigger, however, at least 4' tall) I like the idea of Rocket having a softer side. I also liked the idea of Rocket being a good cook. I saw the idea on Tumblr (I forget where). It makes sense to me, because if Rocket can assemble guns on the fly he can certainly do well in the kitchen. I'll probably come back to these ideas in the future in a more fleshed out version. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading!


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